Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less

 

Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I have to admit that I approached this book with trepidation. While I have been making a concerted and whole-hearted effort to embrace minimalism and slow living (but not spartanism, which is the extremist version of minimalism), I have been very careful to avoid what I'll call the bruh-culture of efficiency aka "hustle culture". Screw hustle culture. Screw productivity at all costs. I'm just not about that.

That's not to say I don't laud and enjoy hard work, I do, so long as it brings intentional results and so long as I can "turn it off" when I need to, which is often. Hustle culture isn't sustainable in the long term, and I've been on this planet long enough to realize that, for me, at least, slower really is better. Working myself to an early death is just not on my agenda, and I've been very close to a couple of situations where I've seen overwork and hustle culture result in some long lasting and sometimes severe damage to mental health, as well as physical health (usually joined at the hip). I'm not going there. You really can't pay me enough to go there. I value well-being over money.

So, it was with some concern that I opened the cover and skimmed the book, to see a fair amount of "corporate speak" between the covers. I almost lemmed this one, but thought I'd give it a chance.

The corporate speak between the covers, I learned, was a bit of a necessary evil. I'm reminded of Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism and its use of what I'll call techno-speak. I'm not the most tech-savvy person (I can fuss with a database and worked for a major software firm for a few years, so I'm not a complete stranger to it), so I am a little intimidated and defensive when it comes to techno-speak. And while I've been in the corporate world for decades, I bristle at corporate speak. I use it, admittedly, as a tool. But the way some people revel in it, frankly, makes me a bit ill. Thankfully, the corporate speak here was really used to contextualize warnings about the dangers of slipping into being a "yes man" in the corporate world. McKeown makes no bones about standing one's ground, and pissing off many people in the process, in an effort to ultimately define personal boundaries and focus on what one deems is essential.

Does this work in the real world? Yes and no. I was surprised and felt rather justified to read about being intentionally slow to answer some requests. I'm in procurement, and while there are indeed times for fast action (e.g. customer emergencies), most people's emergencies are not really emergencies. And in corporate settings where everything is an emergency, disfunction reigns supreme. Did I mention "screw hustle culture"? McKeown's point, at least at this juncture in the book, is that oftentimes emergencies aren't, and the essentialist is not only able to differentiate between emergent and non-emergent situations, but to forestall the non-emergent situations or, at times, ignore them entirely. Of course, in the corporate setting that most of us work in, you can't just be flippant about disregarding the needs of others, but, with practice and in the right context, you can set the tone with coworkers and even bosses regarding your boundaries. If you can't, you need to decide if that's a "you" problem or a company culture problem. You may or may not be able to change an entire company's culture (likely not), but you can do some things to influence your island, so to speak. McKeown addresses that here. I'm not going to go over all of the ins and outs, because I would just be repeating what he said. You really do need to read it for yourself.

Is this book a life-changer? Not for me. There are some things as a mid-level manager that are intractable and that I just have to live with. But I have discovered that, in the right context, I have more power to decide what is essential than I would ever have given myself credit for, or ever had the courage to enact, even five years ago. If I would have encountered this book several years ago, I think it would have had even less of an effect on me than it has, simply because I have made a conscious effort only in the past year or so to really try to simplify and declutter my life physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I've found that minimalism is hard work. If you think that slow living is simple, you are in for a lot of disappointment and cognitive dissonance. You have to work at working less, but there is a pathway. Actually, there are a number of pathways. Essentialism is just one aspect of minimalism and, I'd argue, a minor one, at that. As part of a curriculum on learning to live more slowly and intentionally (and that is a BIG syllabus, I can assure you), Essentialism is definitely helpful. But I don't think it's a good doorway into the slow life of intentionality. Pardon the horrid pun that you knew was coming, but it's not essential, at least not as a whole. Helpful, absolutely. And a part of the journey, to be sure. But only one piece of a much larger puzzle.

Still, there are parts I will be reading again. The section on "Play" is, I think, critical. As is the section on "editing". This isn't a master-class, but there are clearly some gems, some of them are essential, but not the whole thing. And what is essential for you is going to be different than what is essential for me. It's a personal journey. Hopefully you can find some key waypoints in this little box of maps.

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Prisms of the Oneiroi

 

Prisms of the Oneiroi by Martin Locker
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

While I've read bits and bobs of Martin Locker's work before, this is my first full-length foray into his work and I feel like I've struck gold in the Pyrenees. I paid for it (including shipping from Andorra), but this is worth ten times what I spent! There's a wonderful variety to the stories in this collection, all girded by Locker's own voice, or, more properly, voices, as his characters are distinctly-identifiable from one another. Each tale is a different facet of the same gem.

Ligotti has nothing on Locker when it comes to existential dread on a cosmic scale. This was the sort of suffocating fear of the universe that Lovecraft strove for, but Locker has found. "The Dreaming Plateau" is horror of a different order of magnitude, made all the more impactful by the elision of the most purple prose. The poetic heart is intact, but without un-necessary frills, with terrifying clarity. And for some reason, my mind kept flashing images from the Tibetan scenes in The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus throughout, which is not a bad thing. I was waiting for Tom Waits to burst through a door at any moment.

"Corfdrager" examines one of my favorite enigmatic pieces of art, Bruegel's "The Beekeepers and the Birdnester" (and the art used on one of my favorite albums from one of my favorite bands, Sunn's White 2) as a catalyst for the narrator's encounter with his family's past and his own inheritance via a seemingly academic investigation. One wonders, by the end, if the academics aren't the most horrific aspect of the story. If you went to graduate school, you know what I'm talking about here. The dive into apiary lore is more sinister and more irresistible than one might imagine.

While reading Prisms of the Oneiroi, I am using a Winterthur Poison Book Project bookmark (you can get one, like I did, for free here). The irony of reading "The Temple Consumes the Rose," which features a green book by Sar Peladan, is not lost on me. I might also be tempted to consume such a book, if I was to be rewarded the visions of Latoure, even if it cost me my life. Such is the price of true art. A moving occult tale.

"The Secrets of Saxon Stone" was a delight to read, and I am not being facetious. Daimons abound, the psychogeography of the region portrayed is reflective of the spirits that not only dwell there, but are interwoven into its very fabric. This is like Dunsany, but without the pedantics that sometimes overween his work. This is mythical and approachable, lending familiarity to the representation of the divine.

Locker displays his acumen for ethnography and mythic studies in "Sea Salt and Asphodel," a story of dreams, prophecy, and the cycle of life and death. The depth of immersion here just has to be experienced - I can't describe it. Suffice it to say that this tale is told in such a way that one feels at one with the others presented in the story. You don't read this story, you live in it. The reader feels a part of the tale, such is the attention to detail.

"In Search of the Wild Staircase" is an epistolary story in the vein of Harper's magazine travelogues from the late-19th- and early-20th-centuries, albeit with a folk horror twist. That twist is set on its head, though, as it is implied, at least, that The Church itself is the source of the frisson. The story ended a bit too hurried for me, but it's still a very solid work. I'll never look at the little country of Liechtenstein the same again.

Locker, you clever, clever man. "The Jasmine Tear" is a story worthy of a Twilight Zone episode, which is one of the highest compliments I can give to a short story. The koummya, the djinn, the deal with a demon, and the treasures of the Maghreb - this is worthy of Musiqa al-Ala; a masterstroke of storytelling that will stick in my mind until the Last Day (or fifty years, whichever comes first)!

I found "A Dialogue of Innocence with the Hidden Parish" deeply moving. First, it created a deep psychogeography of a particular house seeping with sadness, longing for company. I thought of my parent's home and the sorrow I associate with it, but more of that at a later time. I also thought of my own childhood and the deep impressions of place I felt as a young world traveller. Moving every two or three years (Dad was in the military) forces one to latch on to the feeling of a place rather quickly, so I might be a little hypersensitive that way. Combine that with the death of my parents a few years back, and maybe I was destined to fall in love with this story.

Ever contemplated choosing homelessness? I have (when it's warm out). In fact, I was very strongly tempted at my last job to just give a try at homelessness, but fate, thankfully, intervened. In "What the Vagabond Sees or The Parish Coda," an entire society and cosmology is outlined for English Vagabonds, whose motto is "No Parish But Albion". If you know, you know. I immediately connected with this tale, due in part to a trip I took in 2019 that allowed a fair bit of rambling around the Cotswolds. I recalled the many carefree hikes that friends and I took in the English countryside, from Brighton and Eastbourne to the Midlands to the Cotswolds, when I lived in the UK as a teenager. As I understand it, after The Great War, many veterans, disillusioned from the horrors they saw during the war, became homeless wanderers in the 1920s. I think that the song "The Tin Man" by Grasscut is inspired by that phenomenon or, if it's not, I'm going to interpret it that way anyway. I've often dreamt of what it would be, in my dotage, to hike around England until I just drop dead. I know I'm going to sound borderline insane, but it's a very tempting prospect, in all seriousness. This story just unlocks that morbid longing in my heart all over again. Maybe. Someday. Maybe. But only if I'm alone. And it's warm. But I can't imagine a better way to go.


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SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome

SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I am, by academic training, at least, a historian (MA African History, University of Wisconsin-Madison, '99, if you must know). So, I am rather persnickety about my history books. Note that I am not a student of Classic Roman history - I've been trying to fill that gap in my knowledge base the last couple of years through the History of Rome podcast and a little reading, including this book and some specious fiction in the form of I, Claudius. I've also been studying Latin because that's something I promised myself I would do from my childhood (thank you, Asterix & Obelix), so I recently read Ad Infinitum: A Biography of Latin and have just begun Lingua Latina per se Illustrata, which I'm enjoying thus far (it doesn't hurt that the first city mentioned in this Latin primer is Brundisium, or, modern Brindisi, where I lived as a child for a few years).

But what of Beard's SPQR? I have to admit that I was a bit taken aback by Doctor Beard's starting point. Did I mention my pickiness when it comes to history books? The book starts in an unlikely place, the political clash between Cicero and Catiline. Even with my rudimentary knowledge of Roman history and chronology, I can think of many other starting points that might be a better "spring" into the subject. As I read, though, my skepticism melted away. What Beard has done here is set a trap for the reader, a clever ruse to begin, not with history, but with historiography disguised as history. This is a genius move, as it sets the stage for the evidence that is presented in such a way that the reader, also, becomes a critically trained (at least heuristically) historian. Thus, SPQR is not only a history book, it's a history training ground.

The emphasis here, unlike other Roman histories I've sampled, is not primarily on military campaigns and military leaders. They aren't ignored, by any means (an impossibility if one is being honest about Roman history), but Beard does her level best to provide a broad vision of Roman society, inasmuch as the available evidence allows. You'll learn about all the big emperors, of course, but you'll also learn about slaves and freed-slaves and merchants, the more common people and the mass of humanity that kept the Roman machine oiled and working. This is a refreshing change from the prominent pseudo-idol worship of the emperors that makes its way into many high-level histories. Beard is, of course, restricted by the evidence, but her work in archaeology, as well as history, allows her a more "in the trenches" view of Rome and Romans, something I was hoping to find.

All-in-all, this is fantastic recounting of the first millenium of Roman history. I find it interesting that Beard ends the book at the moment when Caracalla, for enigmatic reasons, granted Roman citizenship to all people in the empire, ironically, and effectively ending the empire itself, or at least changing the structure of the empire to such an extent that earlier Romans would hardly recognize it. Maybe elitism has something going for it? You decide, but be sure to read this account before making that decision. You may be surprised at the parallels to modern life. The Romans still have something to say to us.

If you're interested in more Latin language and history books, try I, Claudius or Ad Infinitum: A Biography of Latin

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